Fool's Sacrifice: A Dominion City Blues Novel: Dominion City Blues, #1

By Geronimo Bosch

Dominion City Blues: Volume One

390 pages

Lee Lazarus is an ace pilot flying stolen vehicles in Dominion City. His life is endangered from the minute he teams up with a tough girl called Spider. Spider's smart but is wrapped in a web of secrets and bad luck. Never more so than when they steal the wrong vehicle and their fellow gang members are blown from the skies. Lee and Spider soon find themselves under suspicion from their gang boss and the police who see them as terrorists hellbent on bringing Dominion City to its knees.

As things go from bad to worse, Lee must make a choice. Face punishment for his crimes or accept the help of a mysterious stranger from an other-worldly group known only as the Long Hedz Inc. But help comes at a price. The price of a fool's sacrifice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Geronimo Bosch
• Release date: Jul 13, 2015
• ISBN: 9781516303656

Book preview

FOOL’S SACRIFICE

DOMINION CITY BLUES

BOOK ONE

GERONIMO BOSCH

First Kindle Edition Copyright ©2014 Geronimo Bosch

All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be reproduced in any form other than that in which it was purchased and without the written permission of the author.

FOR THE TRAILBLAZERS AND THE BROTHERS WHO WENT BEFORE

AND VICTIMS THE WORLD OVER OF ‘EXCITED DELIRIUM’

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Part I – The Skidz

Part II –Long Hedz Inc

Part III – Outsider Within

PART I

THE SKIDZ

1

Times change as landscapes do: subtly, perpetually, as well as seismically and unexpectedly; both in the physical sense and the political. Vehicular theft remains a constant though, throughout human history, since the day a person first elected to ride on the back of a mule and another person requested the loan of said mule for said purpose and was refused. Only the particulars change.

Mules became traps became white vans and, when oil became scarce and mules had lost their appeal somewhat, became, in time, the air skidoo – Sky-do: Rocket; Zooters; Gazoota (God’s Scooter); Pegasus; Floaters; Wings.

Travelling courtesy of an integrated citywide traffic guidance system afforded limited freedom of the skies however, as the authorities, in their monopoly of the infrastructure aligned with the desire to effectively monitor the movements of citizens, implemented systematic curtailing of routes deemed unpopular or said to be too dangerous to travel. This led to outlying areas of City States being rendered largely inaccessible to the greater majority of citizens who were unwilling to risk passage on the waterways, though it should be noted that it did lead to safety targets in the traffic control sector of the industry being more regularly met. Your Personal Activation Code Key, or PACK, when entered into the Skymma prompts the machine to validate you as an authorized user to the central network and requests entry to the Grid. Once accepted, you’re away.

None of these controlling factors made Skymming any less appealing, of course. They did, however, make skidoo theft and the lesser crime of joyriding a lot more challenging for the thrill-seeking Yoot of Dominion City.

Due to restrictions on air space, limitations were necessary on the number of vehicles accessing the Grid at peak times: tariffs were raised to discourage non-priority flyers from travelling during these periods. Add the cost of prohibitive insurance premiums and the price of the Rocket in a limited market and you were no longer talking a young Slummer’s pastime; Skymming was more the reserve of the flash droids, respectabloids, the drones and their clones with their InCity Wings.

Skidjacking was rife amongst young Slummers; a badge of honour. The closest most OutCity Yoot came to owning the skies was with Humming, boarding from roof to roof and across Grid lanes, for shit and koodz. Or Looning, causing havoc riding helium-filled inflatables during Peak Traffic. Big laughs and koodz all round, but almost always fatal. This made the only other option for speed and vertigo kicks seem all the more appealing: join a Garage.

Garages being OutCity Slum collectives of Tex, pooling skills and resources for the greater whole; primarily employed in circumventing surveillance in its many forms, but also dealing with accountability and finance, hardware, gadgetry and systems of operation. Only Garages possessed the necessary Slummer sophistication required to run the Skidz, as the auto theft trade became known. And, only through association with these racketeers and black market entrepreneurs had OutCity Slum Yoot any hope of becoming airborne.

Vicarious thrills are thrills nonetheless.

The usual deal involved recruiting teams of Jaybirds and deploying them to target simultaneously clusters of inactive skidoos in various locations across the Grid. These OutRiders used PACK data and override codes supplied by Tex to confuse and outwit the central network as they made their getaway, zipping about the Grid through congested fly lanes, avoiding or taking out the ever-vigilant Hi-Cams, or Crazy 8’s, so-called after their swivelling, multi-optical design, continually relaying with due diligence their versions of viewed activities to the visual data archive at Central Bank. Once alerted to rogue flyers on the Hi-Ways, central network dispatched automated aerial control units, or Buzz Cops, which then had to be outrun. On leaving the Grid, a successful OutRider would either stash the spanking new Gazoota somewhere until the heat died down or send it off downstream on a body shop barge to be re-modelled, re-sprayed and sold on.

Jaybirds were the mere stuntmen of the piece, the fall guys of the operation; most likely to be wiped out or taken into custody. Punishment for such crimes and misdemeanours was as entirely arbitrary as for any offence, Rule By Decree having been enforced in the City State of Dominion since its establishment following the Displacement and the re-encroachment of seawater over much of the land, effectively replacing the legislature of the times with the Corporate whims of the Founding Fathers, as if to rub salt in the wounds. OutRiders lucky enough to crawl free from a skidwreck most likely faced a fine, if they were in credit to Central Bank. Most Slummers had never been in credit to Central Bank though and usually found their Public Transport Allowance suspended for an unspecified period, or their Public Transport Entitlement revoked, leaving them practically InCity persona non grata. If their luck struck out, they could find themselves dropped between cities and take longer to return than to re-locate to another Slum district elsewhere.

Lee Lazarus had been a largely successful Jaybird with a collective known as Zoot’s Yard for the best part of a year. His tag was G-Boy, since he was given to spending downtime on E creating his murals all around the Yard and flophouses. G-Boy had been busted on a couple of occasions: one an actual bust while on the Skank, once on decoy duty and as a result is denied all access to public transportation within the tidal walls of Dominion. With another three close scrapes in the space of the last week alone, and each one being fingered for the Dummy Run, he was beginning to feel that his luck was running out.

The Dummy Run: decoy duty; an essential part of the operation, diverting resources from the scenes of other crimes by going in unprotected. This buys time for Tex as they shield the other flyers using priority PACK’s and transmitting bogus Hi-Cam footage to Central Bank, swamping vital areas with erroneous data for it to sift through. No integrated computer system is impervious to attack and such was the case with Central Bank. Tex can hack in, but they will be traced and quick. So, while the Jaybirds were out on the Skank, Tex were holed up in front of banks of data ports at various locations ready to hotfoot it at a moment’s notice.

Such was the importance of decoy duty, but it was welcomed by only the loosest cannons in the Yard, fried on a diet of Crank and Spark. The Holo Man had been a Yardee when G-Boy first flew with the crew; put his hand up for every Dummy Run as it guaranteed a hit from Zoot’s purse if you made it back in one piece. The Holo Man had a good run, able as he was to push it that bit further than most in the getaway, given that all he cared about, all he lived for was his next hit. Holo had long since crashed and burned, or been disappeared at least, but was not erased from Central Bank; alive, maybe, in stasis, or limbo somewhere...

Drum handed out PACK sticks and pointed to his Palmprint displaying the skidoo park layout atop Berezovsky Towers, as the Float they were riding in pulled up alongside. He was indicating which Zooters the crew would have PACK access to, as G-Boy fitted GridNav VekTex over his right eye socket, enabling him to fly the Grid blind, should it come to that; VekTex being Versatile Electro-Kinetic Technology – Ubiquitous and exhaustive Tex, drawing on the wealth of data held in Central Bank.

We’re the Dummies here, right? G-Boy asked Drum directly.

Listen, I know you guys have had a tough week. Spider, a recent flyer, was seated beside G-Boy. They’d been out on the Skank together all week. Shit, three near misses would spook anyone. Zoot wants you to know it aint personal. He put in a word with Tex and there’s a chute on there for you, should you need. He nodded to the PACK sticks in each of their hands. Addressing the rest of the crew, he added, For the rest of us, it’s a Free Ride all the way!

Favouritism for the lady - Nice work if you can get it, eh, Paintball...? G-Boy eyed Denny casually, breaking a smile.

Choke on it, Fuckface. Spider spat in her defence.

OK, Skidz Freaks. Let’s fly in the face of freedom. As Drum raised the side on the Float, G-Boy tensed, hoping the perimeter fencing around the Towers deactivated as planned or they’d all be in for the kind of shock that put Zoot in a suit.

As this was a Dummy Run, hostile skidoo park attendants wielding taser sticks were duly anticipated and dispatched with a minimum of fuss and complication, Spider being adept with the Shuriken; shock-charged and rendering completely immobile the target of an accurate strike. G8-Tor took perhaps too much pleasure from the resistance provided by some over-zealous sap and the Crazy 8’s were gathering by the time he’d finished standing on his victim’s neck.

G-Boy made straight for the Pegasus Speedster he’d clocked on Drum’s Palmprint, disregarding the sham scene of resistance unfolding around him. Once inside, the PACK stick activated the controls. Good Morning Doctor Uberhalser, please prepare for your journey while we await connection to the Grid. He looked up in time to see the duo of attendant Crazy 8’s that were monitoring the locale being taken out by Spider; spinning wayward and fried from her Shuriken strike. As she joined him in the vehicle: Would all passengers please ensure they are securely harnessed before we travel commence.

Touching the tiny PACK stick into manual override, the Pegasus hummed into life, living up to its name and taking to the air, rising through the green and orange smog of the cityscape before them. Doctor Uberhalser, while you are considered a priority client, the soothing female voice of the traffic control network emanated from within the steering stem, it is to be remembered that use of the manual override facility is not advisable during this busy period of the day.

Get her to shut the fuck up. G-Boy demanded as he gunned the Zooter over the tower-top and down into the sprawl and hum of the rush hour below.

Spider went about her work, PalmTex connecting to the PACK Nav in the Speedster itself and Central Bank remotely.

I give it about ninety seconds stat before we’re Buzzed for those Crazy 8’s. Ten seconds longer and Pegasus here realises we aint Uberhalser. G-Boy was zipping through busy fly lanes on the Good Doctor’s priority.

Who are they calling for Dummies? Like it aint personal; during rush hour??!!? This was Spider spitting, but without distraction.

Hey, we got a lucky break: A Doctor with a hot ass rocket; Priority clearance. We might just make it - Diagnostics? Security gizmoes..?

It’s top of the range. Some weird shit I aint seen before: water jettison - override, blister bomb in roof compartment – deactivated. Windscreen will blacken as soon as Doctor Uberhalser gets in touch, which will be before the Buzz arrives. Well weird; unusually rapid communications zipping around about these Wings, mang. G-Boy banked sharp right and dove down through three lanes of traffic. Way to get us noticed, soldier. The windscreen darkened to black in an instant and Pegasus ComsTex filled the void. Here’s Uberhalser.

A shiny-faced respectabloid appeared on screen where the outside world had been, replete with a shiny grey smock against a plain beige background; dull, even for a recorded message. His recorded voice was no more inspiring; Please desist from your actions. They are futile. You have stolen a Class Zero State Vehicle and are currently being monitored as a Priority One Pursuit Target: Report to Central Bank for instruction. The image flickered and the message started over.

G-Boy flew through a busy junction, VekTex enabled but busting shit to luck, he tailspun an OldsMobile into the ensuing carnage left in the Pegasus’ wake. Ploughing through more grouped Crazy 8’s the Speedster emerged from the raging InCity Spillway into less chaotic routeways.

Weird, weird shit... No. It’s wired like a bomb. It’s basically a bomb.

Where a traffic stream had slowed entering an OutCity tributary, G-Boy ran the stately rocket into the front end of the lead wagon. Grabbing the PACK stick, he exited the Speedster, leaping onto the roof of the jalopy he’d smashed into with thirty or more stacks of Floaters moving between him and the ground. Reaching round through the window, he grabbed hold of the female passenger by the hair and had almost dragged her through the window when the door came open with her. G-Boy now addressed the driver, Get out now, or I drop your fucking wife.

Spider aided in the transition of bodies and, once in possession of the flying shitheap, left the terrified couple on the booby-trapped rocket to their likely deaths.

Spider was unimpressed: "That wasn’t the most intelligent thing I’ve seen you do, back there. I say ‘It’s a bomb’ and you crash us into the nearest available hunk o’ trash.

Calculated risk... Replied G-Boy tersely.

Calculated? She couldn’t conceal her incredulity. We should be dead, mang. Dead as dead is dead.

...And we’re not. Things are looking up. With a little luck... those Wings blow up... takes the heat off us. G-Boy pitched the Skymma into a steep descent against Grid regulations and without the Good Doctor’s priority exemption it was a move likely to draw Buzz Cops on their tail. Time to see if the chute is compatible with this baby, cuz she sure won’t be outrunning no Buzz.

The parachute provided by Tex threw a blanket of excessive data out to Central Bank regarding their vehicle’s status and position on the Grid, covering everything from code violations to machine override functions; the recently skidjacked auto would appear simultaneously in numerous nearby sectors and its location would require determining prior to being isolated from the Grid. It was hoped this would provide them with sufficient time to earth the wagon and hole up at ground level before the Buzz arrived on the scene. Spider piggybacked the chute onto the owner’s PACK, enabling the chute to open its barrage of techno verbiage and re-direct attention temporarily from them.

Why did that sucker not blow up in our faces, Spider’s indignation showed no signs of abating. Is it on a timer? Fuel gauge activated? Or remotely, by the Doc himself...?

Someone out to kill the Doctor...?

No. That’s the weird part. The bomb wasn’t rigged up or planted. It was incorporated into the design.

Maybe it’s a standard feature. I don’t make a habit of lifting State Goonmobiles, so I wouldn’t know... G-Boy grounded the skidjacked flyer in as smooth a motion as the old zooter would allow and the two emerged onto the causeway in a seedy, half-derelict, semi-industrial MidCity sector.

Thirty storeys above ground level, an explosion carved apart the early morning rush hour, flaming debris cascading earthward in a domino avalanche effect. In Spider’s wider eyes, G-Boy caught reflected fiery pinwheels and secondary explosions. If this is a set-up, I only hope Drum and the others make it out alive. Her uplifted gaze contrasted starkly with her deflated demeanour.

2

Locating a den just a few blocks away, Spider led G-Boy to it in the hope that it might be viable, in that it would be unoccupied and had remained undetected. Having scaled the perimeter fencing of a disused manufacturing facility, they forced entry to the premises through a basement grille and climbed into a ventilation shaft descending into the belly of the building.

In response to the zealously robust approach of the authorities in dealing with miscreants, various means of avoiding detection and punishment had developed over time and knowledge of the location and operation of hideouts within a network had become an integral aspect of Slummer Subbacultcha.

Their footfalls were muffled echoes in the pitch black, Spider using VekTex to locate the sump drain in the basement floor. Accreted grime on the rusted mesh indicated the bolthole was unoccupied and they squeezed themselves in turn into the dank concrete shaft beneath, feeling the sides with their fingers in an effort to uncover the rim of the concealed hatch, whilst bracing themselves with their feet against the sides, so as not to slip and fall down further into the sewer below. Once found, G-Boy smeared dirt from the sensor and passed his PalmTex over it, deactivating the lock mechanism within. The hatch opened and they swung their legs feet first into a restrictive horizontal shaft of around three metres in length, securing the entry hatch behind them as they progressed through another open hatch into the cramped environs of the den, which was not much bigger than a metre in any dimension. They then secured the final hatchway from within.

The silence they’d maintained while gaining entry was punctured by Spider: I don’t get it. Why would State choose to blow up one of their Gazootas?

...And during morning rush hour. I wonder how many other fuckers bought it up there...

...Unless someone is sabotaging the construction stage.

No way: State run diagnostics checks on all vehicles; they wouldn’t miss it - Not if we were able to find it. Maybe the Doc trusts his employer too much.

Yeah, and maybe we just walked right into something we shouldn’ta walked into. Jeez, I hope the others got our distress call in time... I hope they made it.

G-Boy slapped a light patch on the ceiling of the den and sparked it into life, but not too bright. Hey thrill-seeker, this is what it’s all about. Now that they’d found safety, he was enjoying the adrenaline high, Let’s think it through. You think we were all set-up. Isn’t it just as probable that our run of luck is continuing...?

We won’t know for sure until we check in with the others. Coms silence dictated that would be some time yet. Could it just be us two being set-up here?

That doesn’t feel right somehow.

We were the only ones issued with a chute. It’s not like Zoot. Maybe Drum...

G-Boy cut her short, Look, I don’t know what you’ve got going on with Zoot, or Drum for that matter, and it’s no business of mine unless it means the difference between not getting blown up when I fly with you or ending up sliced like toast on the causeway. But, I don’t see it’s in their interests. We bring home parts on a regular basis and neither of us goes out blitzed like G8-Tor or D-Dog, or half the other Sparkoes. We’re semi-reliable.

Fuck it, Lee. You know this isn’t the only Garage I’ve run with. I know how jealous games can run out of control. I’m still well connected and it doesn’t always go down well with people.

If you’re so well connected, why did you have to leave?

Sometimes it’s just better to... Spider fixed him with a testy glare; like, leave it.

G-Boy replied in kind: Well, I don’t know who you sell your rides to, but if it’s gonna spark retribution can I at least get a heads-up before deciding whether to fly with you...?

The Buzz out there aint gonna die down for hours. So, what, are we just gonna piss around like this or should I shiv you right now...?

G-Boy appreciated the humour defusing the tension. It gave him pause for thought. The Buzz was out: Priority One. And we didn’t see a single cop on a Dummy Run. Don’t you think that’s strange? I took out at least four, five Crazy 8’s.

And I took two at the scene. Spider was throwing imaginary stars.

The whole scene aint right: If we’d been set-up there woulda been Buzz everywhere.

...Unless whoever was behind it thought that the bomb would do the trick.

No. I went for the Pegasus. No-one told me to. No set-up. Eat your words, Paranoia Girl. He concluded, smirking triumphantly.

Or, you’re in on it too - Which is why you tried to blow us up when you knew I was onto you!

...And you really believe that? You’re so totally fucked up.

...Or, Drum and the others are all staring at a blood-spattered Hi-Way.

Leave it, will you. No set-up.

Don’t rule it out.

Let’s bet on it. G-Boy pulled off a glove and spat into his palm, confident now. No set-up. I’ll bet you drugs.

Spider laughed. I’ll bet you would. But, you don’t have any...

He arched his back, adrenaline waning now, Surely Zoot will hit us tonight, for what we’ve been through...

You wanna bet on that? He could just put you back out on the Skank, especially when he sees the desperation in your eyes. And that’s if we haven’t been set-up like patsies.

Maaang, I know it makes no sense to hit us all before letting us loose on the Grid, but it doesn’t help us when it all goes to shit. We’re gonna be here for time.

So, you’re confident, huh? Wanna put your Green Ease where your mouth is? Spider held out two green pills in the palm of her hand. I’ll stand you one from my purse, until we learn about the set-up.

G-Boy clapped his hand over hers. Easiest high of my week - Wait, how so you got purse already?

She shrugged, Zoot sometimes hits me prior to flying. I don’t get high on the Skank though, you know that.

Rights to the ways and the rules of the world...

Look, if you’re starting that up again, we can forget it. It’s worked for us here, hasn’t it?

He swallowed the minkage, before she had chance to retract the offer. What you doin’ with Ease anyhow; I had you for a Crank lady?

It’s more my thing. But, I know E’s totally your thing and there’s no point being on different highs cramped up in a den.

Well, there’s a thing. Girl, you’re nothing if not full of surprises...

The E is for Essence: inspiration communicating at a latent level, unravelling the endless knot. Taking one back to a time before Reason ruptured the Dreaming, dominating the human mindsphere. Thought was spared rational continuity, the need to progress; thought merely was, and a thought was enough. In this sense, Essence was anti-cathartic; it provided a spigot for Time, regulating its flow. Thus, one found oneself contented to be involved with whatever one was involved in. A moment in and of itself became meritorious. Time passed elegantly, all motion and thought appearing mellifluous, glowing golden. Ego relaxed as restrictive mental limitations were dissolved and subsided; the notion of the self seeming to incorporate all elements of what one perceived, all around extraneously and within, skin appearing more a conduit than a physical definition. Trust prevailed over paranoia. E lacked the exhilaration produced by other drugs, but if Time was on hand to be killed, the Essence was the thing.

Where did you learn that Shuriken shit, anyhow?

I don’t know. Where did you learn to fly like such a shithead?

You know the answer to that...

...From these other shitheads.

...Exactly.

So, what made you hook up with these space cowboys?

I didn’t know what the fuck I was getting into - How about you?

I’d heard about Zoot. I guess I wanted to see if he was all he was cracked up to be.

And, does he shape up?

He’s a fearsome fucker... at first.

You got the measure of him already?

She shrugged. Everyone’s got a button. And, if you press it, they got wings. Spider made like she was exploding.

So, what’s Zoot’s button?

It aint the same for you as it is for me. And, anyway, the fun is in finding it.

Have you found my button...? G-Boy asked, playfully.

I don’t know. Questioning the loyalty under Zoot’s hood seemed to work pretty well. How come you rate these dudes so high?

It was G-Boy’s turn to shrug. They’ve always done alright by me.

...Until this week.

Yeah, until I started flying with you, you might say. Spider kicked out at him. Easy now, eight hours wrestling in a confined space will take it out of both of us.

Spider made a move towards him, I could get a submission out of you in five minutes.

I’ll submit now, if it makes it easier.

I can’t believe you’re such a pussy.

Chill out. You’re acting all Cranked up. I don’t want to have to hurt you, just to get you to back down.

Yeah, right; in your dreams, Mister Space Zero.

Well, alright. But you’ll hurt yourself, kicking me. If this E comes on strong, I’ll barely feel a thing.

From her position, laid out horizontal on the floor of the den, Spider kicked him again, on the shoulder. Then I’ll kick the shit out of you, Mister Pussy Lee Zero.

Hey! G-Boy took hold of her leg, preventing Spider from repeating the act, How about I get to know your name, so I can insult you with it.

No.

Why not...?

No-one else knows me by it.

What, is it embarrassing, like Hope, or something?

Yeah, it’s lame. Why do you think I changed it?

So people don’t know who you really are, I guess...

...Anything wrong with that? Coming over all Cranked again. Most people I know lead some kinda double life.

That’ll be why you’re so paranoid. G-Boy grinned. He was only messing with her, searching for that button: everybody had aliases; on the Skidz, it was just the way things were.

You’re so green. Spider knew it, but persisted with the jousting, How do you survive, without working the angles...?

I don’t give a shit. I’m not on any power trip; I just try to get by.

You Ess-Dogs are all the same. You don’t care, and you don’t even know who’s riding you.

That depends on the ride... Take Zoot: for sure, he’s riding us all - but the man provides; he makes it all work. You Brainiacs are all the same; you’ve got it going on, all the time.

Well, maybe you can come up with some way of taking my mind off things, you psycho Skidster... she leaned bodily into him, with narrowing eyes.

G-Boy laughed. I can’t afford the ride, chick. You know that.

So, maybe it’s your lucky day... Spider pressed herself against him, bringing her full and luscious lips to within an inch or two of G-Boy’s, as she made to straddle his recumbent form.

...And why would you want to do that, give it up for me? What’s your angle?

I want you... Spider leaned forward and kissed G-Boy on the mouth, ...on my side. She finished the sentence and they began to undress one another, clumsily and with some awkward laughter, as she revealed her spider nanobotattoo; a shifting mass of near-microscopic automata creating markings, ridges and pigmentation covering the skin over most of her left shoulder. The effect was of a large, black and menacing arachnid, carapace glinting off an imaginary light source, bristling and poised to strike at him from its vantage there, with its front legs braced against her collarbone.

G-Boy reached out to caress Spider there, warily at first, as the Essence became the thing....

3

...We’re gonna need a new line of work pretty soon anyhow. You heard the latest? They got a new gadgee called the Transporter take you anywhere you wanna go in the blink of an eye. This, the latest rumour doing the Skidz, but hitting on a primal fear – that, one day, technology will outpace and supercede your angle. They were hearing it from Gnarls, the pick-up pilot. He collected them in a clapped-out ambulance that he’d bought legitimately from State and used on his rounds; Gnarls was also a part-time, freelance medic. We’ll have to bag us one from a State goober and get Tex drooling over it. Fuck maaang, it’s gonna change everything. Those goons will be popping up everywhere. You tell it your destination, initiate... he clicked his fingers, ...and you’re there.

That’ll put the skids under the Skidz. observed G-Boy wryly.

You can say that again, amigo. You can say it all again. Gnarls rumbled on in the front: A semi-respectable clean-up guy, who could be gnarly nonetheless - His main beef was, ‘Don’t tell me nutin’ I don’t need to know.’

G-Boy and Spider hunkered down in the back, hoods drawn tightly about them, faces concealed. G-Boy caught sight of his tag as it zipped by the window. He got Spider’s attention and pointed to his giant orange apedroid belching fumes from a tenement outlet - Worth the rap for the koodz from other graffitoes. Spider was unmoved. How’s that for a set-up? She ran the Messages on her PalmTex; Hi-Cam footage of the morning’s explosions ripping through the rush hour traffic. Four freeze frame Wanted mugshots told more of the tale: not all the Jaybirds flew the morning. Close-up of G-Boy replaying the ‘...drop your fucking wife’ scene.

Boy, is Zoot sure to be pissed at you. ‘Get out now, or I drop your fucking wife.’ That’s legendary, dude. Way to keep a low profile. I don’t normally talk shit, as you well know, but you two are catapulting to the stars. Talk about going Nova! And, they got you pinned as the ringleader of some shithead terrorist cell... No wonder Zoot don’t want you within a square fucking mile of the Yard.

Where did his Zootness tell you to take us? Spider liked less and less the look and look of it.

Cool your boots, sweets. We’ll be there in no time.

The old Yard: Go ahead and say it... G-Boy would be back on his old stomping ground. He laughed into the back of their chauffeur’s head: Where does that leave you Gnarls, old buddy? Zoot obviously thinks we’re being tailed or he’d be grilling us back at the Yard. We might not be the only ones being cut loose here...

Shut the fuck up! growled Gnarls, I’m semi-respectable. And you’re damn near crossing the line.

But, you’d want to know if Zoot thought you were dispensable, right? Spider added her weight to the argument.

I’m casual labour, sweet shits, which makes me indi-fuckin-spensable; plus, I aint relying on Uncle Zoot to keep me out no slammer. Gnarls made like the model respectable mule; time it take for no man, the time it take for Gnarls. Skymming in stasis, it felt like to G-Boy, being marshalled by congestion alerts and traffic streaming, like metronomic blood flow through the valves of a giant robotic heart - Moving so sedately only made G-Boy’s heart race faster; his agitation apparent in the clench of his jawline.

You’d be relying on us then, Gnarls, to keep you out the slammer. Their driver shifted in his seat, flinching with an almost involuntary glance over his shoulder towards Spider and staying silent. ...Or you might become a more integral member of our terror cell than you ever imagined.

You’re burning bridges all the time, lady. he gnarled.

I’m not being hung out to dry in this shitbrick part of town, whatever goes down, so you flip your bird awhile and scoot back over here in an hour or so to collect us, no matter what Buzz there is about the place. Or, the alternative could be much less respectable. All trace of Essence was gone from her delivery.

Or, the alternative is, I come back here and put a cap in yo’ ass myself, once Zoot’s done with you. Gnarls added, matter-of-factly.

Don’t pop a tube, dude. Zoot’s the one who lubed you up. We’re just putting a greased finger up your ass to cover our own. G-Boy sat back, satisfied with his summation and the ensuing silence which hung persuasively over the atmosphere for the remainder of the journey; the calmer eye in the centre of a shitstorm of a week.

The old Yard had its advantages as a rumble room. G-Boy could appreciate Zoot’s logic. State goons had rousted them out of there some months ago and Zoot had laid down a strict ban on returning to the scene of the crime. As far as G-Boy was aware, everyone had respected his wishes. Now that the heat was on again, it made no sense to advertise the location of the latest Yard, flophouse or Tex loops. He didn’t know himself where the brains were hidden and he knew better than to ask too many questions. So, if State goons were to nail them on the spot, they’d be finding out nothing new about the Outfit.

The ambulance hung idling in the front lot and Gnarls killed the lights. Shimmergreen sparks cascaded from an overhead cable illuminating the blank façade of the old Yard. No light emanated from within the hangars and the bay doors were intact and secure. There was no-one around and, having meandered through the OutCity districts for an interminable age, they had arrived satisfied that they weren’t being tailed.

They’re already in there. Spider determined from local ComsTex flashing across her Palmprint. Their pick-up set the ambulance down and they bailed out. Adios, Gnarls, baby. We’ll see you in one hour. She blew him a kiss with her lips.

Keep that acid bitch away from me. He snarled at G-Boy, who patted him firmly on the shoulder. Hey, Gay Boy: I fuckin’ mean it! Gnarls had grabbed G-Boy by the arm and he was practically spitting fury from his unfortunate face.

Nodding slowly, while holding the wild-eyed stare, G-Boy took back his arm and exited the ride. He stepped out onto the lot as the Float pulled away from them, disappearing into the grim city night more rapidly than it had arrived. A cold wind rattled the huge bay doors and blew through the scene, as they stood together in the intermittent pitch black.

Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you owe me drugs... Spider reminded him, on the basis that she’d seen enough evidence to confirm her suspicions.

They heard a door scrape open in the darkness and a burly figure outlined in a dull, red glow beckoned them inside.

Keeping it dim, all the way. the familiar baritone ordered, securing the outer door once again behind them. Chemicals in the fabric of each individual’s outer garments crackled and bloomed into life, providing a gentle redwash to the trio’s immediate vicinity. Following their hefty, glowing guide, they made their way across the Yard and into a warren of corridors with the old dorm rooms running off at intervals. G-Boy ran the layout through his mind, surprised to be on his old turf again, so preserved and deserted. The place had never felt so cold.

They rounded on a brighter light, some crony G-Boy didn’t recognise, but it allowed him to place their greeter: Ursa, one of Zoot’s hitmen who was known to G-Boy. This didn’t alter their situation, as far as he was concerned. There was obviously shit going down and if Zoot wasn’t spooked by the morning’s events, then he wasn’t part-human anymore. Or, he was totally in on the whole sordid set-up, though why he should want to take out so many of his loyal crew was a point still lost on G-Boy.

How goes it? Ursa addressed the crony, almost as big as the big bear himself.

He’s in with Drum. He whistled. And is he ever pissed. This was not a question. Not even a rhetorical one. It was a bald statement of fact. ...Could be some time.

They